


Girls Never Had Good Choices

by CharacterAbsquatulation



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Abuse, Bodily Fluids, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Multi, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Series Spoilers, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharacterAbsquatulation/pseuds/CharacterAbsquatulation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The full history of Anthy and Akio, for which I apologize. "There was no one to save him, and the irony seared what was left of her mind."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girls Never Had Good Choices

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This piece was bleeding out of me. I had to get it out, and I hope you don't regret it as much as I do... It's my vision of the chronology of the lives of Anthy and her brother. It's not told chronologically, of course, but in Utena what is?
> 
> Warnings: It's SKU... Sex and violence are the order of the day. The story is almost entirely Anthy/Akio, and so explicitly incestuous. If this squicks you, back up... but how'd you get here in the first place?

For the first time in her young life, Anthy had a choice. It wasn't a good choice- girls never had good choices- but it was a choice and it was hers. She could let her brother die, or she could save him.

She pushed him back into the hay.

* * *

His name had been Purutha, once upon a time. He grew up in a poor Indian village, playing in the mud with his little sister. He was deferential, polite, wholly unremarkable... until he became Dios at fifteen. The last Prince of the world had been taller and more stately, and had valiantly held the title for three years before burning up in the fire of death. He had rescued hundreds, thousands of princesses from cruel fates, until his light faded and the mantle was laid younger shoulders.

Purutha would not last a single year.

* * *

Dios lay dying in the hay, his sister beside him. "Don't fight anymore," she begged.

Feeble shoulders shook, divine or not, as he struggled to stand. "But they're calling for help. I've got to go to them." His holy knees would not support him.

It wasn't supposed to end this way, she told herself for the thousandth time. The elders had made it sound noble, being chosen. They had not said anything about how he would stretch out like an old linen until he was threadbare, until the threads began to snap and fray, until there was nothing left. They had not mentioned dying.

Nothing was worth this, she realized. Not even the princesses of the world justified his suffering. There was no one to save him, and the irony seared what was left of her mind.

* * *

The first time she caught a glimpse of his armor, it took her breath away.

No one knew of his potential then. They were helping their mother to cook dinner, and she burnt herself. One moment, Anthy's brother was sitting beside her, chopping vegetables. The next, he was soft and fierce and shining, his bone-white cape brushing the ground as he knelt to bandage their mother's hand. She knew enough to realize what it meant, that out of the corner of her eye he was different, changed. And then he smiled at her, still her Purutha and yet entirely new.

* * *

They roasted a pig in his honor, and burnt his title onto its skin. Dios was presented with the choice cuts, the thigh and the tongue. Sinew and fat were left for Anthy and she gnawed on them greedily, as they hefted the prince onto their shoulders and sang his praises. Girls danced around him. Their beautiful dresses looked like petals blowing in the wind.

* * *

She climbed on top of him. The hay stuck to her thighs as she shook over him. It hurt, feeling him twitch inside her like a dying animal. She ignored the pain, pushed her bony hips into his, and imagined that they were someplace else... a castle, far away... Harder. She bit her lip, and held his hands, until he gasped and shook. The barn filled with light, and she imagined it filling her...

It's cold, so cold. It snaps her back into her body. There is blood in the hay, too much blood. It doesn't even hurt now; she just feels like she is floating. She lets the chilly air hold her up, buoy her to the barn door. They are calling for him, and he is hers now. She is the one who must answer.

* * *

She did not see him for days at a time. He was always off rescuing princesses. They were glamorous, the ladies he saved. Their eyes were sorrowful and their plights valiant. They waited for him, no matter how long it took. (The brats, the whores.) So many, so much need. Was it any wonder that he never came home for supper? (Too late for them, to late for her.) Mother always forgave him. It was important work.

* * *

When Purutha wakes, night has fallen. He's disoriented, confused. Blood is pounding in his ears, and his knees feel weak. Something is different, something happened, but what? He took her, he realizes as he stares at the dirty, disheveled hay. Here, in the hay, he let her ride him like an  _animal_. Princesses needed saving, and she trapped him, sullied him. The hay is unclean.

(She was right, he knows deep down. He would have died if he had tried to even walk out of the barn.) But he would have died a prince, shining.

What is he now? Where is Anthy?

* * *

There was a wise old woman in their village. She helped everyone to be born and to die. Anthy loved to watch her work and to study the creases in her face. She spun stories about dragons and giants and fey things, and how the prince defeated them all. She told of a witch in some of the tales, cunning and swift, who could trick the foxes and hide from owls.

* * *

"Who are you?" they ask.

The words flow from her, as though she had been rehearsing them all her life. "Dios is gone. He is mine and mine alone. I've sealed him somewhere where your hands can never reach."

"Witchwitch _witch_ witchwitch..."

Swords pierce her sides. Really they are whatever is on hand: pitchforks, trowels, skinning knives. Bearing their hatred, they gleam like warrior blades as they run her through.

Her last thought as she passes out: more blood...

* * *

A month after his coronation, she skinned her knee and stayed where she fell, waiting. For three hours, she sat beside the stream and waited to be rescued. Dios never came.

She worked up the courage to ask when next she saw him. Eyes downcast, she tried to explain. "I was hurt. Where were you?"

"You can't be my princess," he laughed, callous and distant like the stars. "You're my sister."

* * *

He stumbles out of the barn, his vision warping and seeing too much red. There's the bitch in the dirt, the one who took his shining thing. He has nothing left now, no sister and no title and no hope.

"Onisama..." she whispers, twitching and shining with metal and blood.  _Brother..._

The last remnant of his power flies to hand. The sword of Dios impales her. Her eyes bulge, and she does not speak again. Purutha totters, and passes out at her feet.

* * *

"Help us! Help us! Save me! Please, not yet. Dios, help! Rescue her, keep us safe. Prevent it, I don't care how. Forgive me, punish him. Make him suffer. Dios, my prince. Feed me and clothe me and shelter me in your arms... Amen."


End file.
